Joan is on the brink. Cough drop addict, school bus driver, mixed race daughter of a Maoist English father and a Chinese-Canadian mother, Joan struggles for meaning after a friend's death reveals a secret life. Migration Songs is a lost letter from your past, an intimate experience full of humour and grace.
This is not so much a book review as it is a love note to Anna Quon and her shining debut novel, Migration Songs. Besides the story it tells, it is full of inspiring words such as these from her main character, Joan: "And I do believe I was put here for something; we all are. My parents wrinkle their noses at the mention of God but I have always felt there was something inside us that needed to be expressed--the way an acorn is destined to grow into a tree, we contain within us the seed of what we are meant to become."
I have long been familiar with Anna Quon's poetry and her astonishing way with words, so why did it take me so long to discover this novel? The first paragraph is itself a poem and I knew right away I would love the book. As the title suggests, Quon's prose sings; it is delicious throughout, a delight to the senses. The story is compelling as we follow a mixed-race girl and her mismatched parents through time. It glides between then and now as smoothly as a dance, in a tale so telling it reads like truth and pulls us easily into the hearts and lives of several characters. But this story belongs to the daughter, Joan. We are compelled to relate to her struggles and are grateful for her friendship with the neighbour's housekeeper and her own part-time caretaker, Edna. And how surprising to see their disparate stories harmonize at the end.
Anna Quon has written three novels thus far, and I understand some of the characters from the first and second meet in the third. I cannot wait to read more from this brilliant local author.
I really liked this book for a number of reasons: Quon's style was not formulaic, she wrote very authentically very refreshing particularly for a first time author. I have lived in Dartmouth, NS and appreciated the subtle nuances of language and conversations. I have worked in health care and cared for persons with issues of mental health so, further appreciated what Quon brought to the table. The back of the book cover read, in part "She writes with compassion and ferocity about the struggle to grow up without a tribe of one's own." Quon is bi-racial. Yes, as with most books there are little weaknesses but not many, and not that they affected my overall enjoyment reading this book.
This was a very quiet book. Quiet characters, quiet main plot, the main character lives a very quiet life, etc. Written as a memoir in first person, the timeline was scattered about but pieced together well enough not to confuse the reader, not in the least actually. Ending did feel rushed. It was quick read. Overall I really liked it, it was tender and soft. 4 stars.
This was a gentle and moving story. A woman with a Maoist English father and a Chinese-Canadian mother, Joan revisits her family history as she struggles to find her niche in an adult world. Joan is a compassionate and relatable narrator who intertwines personal scenes from her parents' and grandparents' lives, eventually including a beloved neighbor and coworkers in the story of who she is becoming. While the book is literary, it doesn't distance the reader-instead, the book is a vulnerable invitation into the inner life of an observer and the joys and sacrifices of leaving and arriving.
The story effortlessly moves between the past and the present. There are also themes of moving away and toward family, and the way that the disappointments and hopes of the past continue to shape how the characters approach the future. Even though the later half of the book feels a little rushed compared to the earlier introspective prose describing the events of Joan's family history, it was a book I didn't want to put down.
Quon's prose is lovingly detailed. Her words are always exact in what they convey, making the book a real joy to enter into. Only having read a bit of Quon's poetry before this book, her gift for creating characters and giving insight into their inner lives through small gestures and descriptions is even more evident in her prose.
This is a story I will read again, and I look forward to reading more of Quon's books.
The plot for this felt a little off balance for me, but it could just be that the narrative flow didn't follow convention. It wove between the story of our main character to multiple chapters about her parents and then in the second half switched between the MC's present and her memory. But overall, this was a really wonderful expression of how the stories of the people in our lives flow into our own story, about finding your place and your own two feet, and finding joy in the struggle of our lives.
Migration Songs by Anna Quon is a most worthy addition to the CanLit mosaic. The book's own mosaic is a sympathetic and memorable cast of characters of varying pedigrees contending with literal and figurative migrations in their respective personal journeys.
By the dictionary definitions, a migration is the seasonal passage of groups of animals for survival, feeding and breeding, or the movement of a person or persons from one country or locality to another. While one sounds natural, normal, organic and positive, the other sounds possibly artificial, forced or prompted by negative reasons. This dichotomy distinguishes the types of migrations of various characters surrounding the troublingly static main character, who is finally compelled and inspired to set her own migration in motion.
The narrator of Migration Songs is reclusive, rueful Joan, a 30-something variously un- or underemployed loner. She sits at the eye of a storm of swirling and intersecting migration paths that enfold and perhaps protect, but increasingly intimidate, confuse and paralyze her. Joan's mother Gillian is a fiercely determined Chinese-Canadian immigrant who forged her own migration from her parents' tradition by resisting an arranged marriage to find her own choice of partner, David, who in turn migrates from England to start a new life with his wife. He had perhaps already set his personal migration in motion before even meeting Gillian by diverging from his British upbringing to become an avid if perhaps naive Maoist. David and Gillian's transition into marriage and parenthood ultimately separates into divergent personal migrations.
As influential as her parents are to Joan is Edna, a feisty Hungarian immigrant who works as a live-in housekeeper in Joan's family's neighbourhood. Edna becomes a de facto parent, mentor and champion for the often fragile Joan. The true extent to which Edna's own life was a series of daunting migrations - not just from one country to another, but over and through harrowing personal terrain - does not emerge until Edna has aged, has moved to a retirement home and is starting to descend into dementia. When Joan is finally in a position to both repay Edna's devotion and pay tribute to her personal courage, she is able to set in motion her own migration, unfurl her own migration song and confidently take hold of her own life.
While there is much to recommend this book, Quon particularly excels at capturing the perceptions and wonderment and misapprehensions of a child as she traces Joan's life and arrested maturity. While fragile, Joan is still extraordinarily faithful and stalwart, and even determined in her fashion. Quon has managed to create an indelible character in Joan who is comparable to young, troubled but striving heroines from Anne Shirley to Madeleine McCarthy of The Way the Crow Flies to Thebes Troutman of The Flying Troutmans.
Is having migrated in one form or another (through parentage, heritage, what one calls home) a self-fulfilling or self-denying construct? Some survive and thrive when they migrate, others allow the fact of having migrated in one form or another - or maybe to have been denied the opportunity to migrate - to always impede them. As frustrating as Joan's inertia and reticence can be at points throughout the book, the reader is always rooting for her, hoping she'll ultimately find some direction for her own migration.
As mentioned in previous reviews, by far the lamest character in the book is Joan Simpson, the one who narrates the story in first person. Everybody else seemed to have more appealing story to tell - Joan’s parents, grandparents, and especially the neighbor’s housekeeper. I found myself rushing through the pages where Joan, for no apparent reason, lingers between the jobs she can’t keep and (could it be?) depression, sucking the cough drops she’s addicted to. Then the story would shift to some of the characters surrounding her, and turn into a romantic tale of her parents courtship, or a family drama, with almost poetic descriptions and easy read. I wish the author picked a different angle, voice and character to tell her story -- because, there is a story to be told.
An interesting first novel. The story is ostensibly about Joan Simpson, but there's an even more interesting story within her own - that of her mother, Gillian, and her mother's parents. To be honest, I think I would have liked the book to be entirely about Gillian (and her husband, David), but it was still an enjoyable read.